


No. 4

by 100demons



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100demons/pseuds/100demons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He feels like an impostor.</p><p>(with every captain, there is a beginning)</p>
            </blockquote>





	No. 4

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Qem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qem/gifts).



> for qem, who deserves so much more & better

He feels like an impostor.

“It fit alright?”

Kasamatsu shrugs, picking at a stray thread of stitching on his new jersey. “I can play in it,” he says and Coach just nods, writing something on the clipboard he always has on hand. 

“Should I--?” Kasamatsu bites his bottom lip hard, abruptly cutting off his faltering words. It had been easy, before, to talk to Coach. _Yes sir, no sir, I’m ready to play sir._

Jinta-senpai had made it look easy. Working with Coach, wearing the No. 4, being Captain. Standing in the empty locker room with nothing but the sound of Coach’s soft, labored breathing, wearing Jinta-senpai’s old number, Kasamatsu can only stare down at his fingers, wound tight with frayed Kaijou blue thread. 

“Last practice starts in half an hour, so I want the boys warmed up and ready to go by four thirty. We’ll do some footwork drills just to keep them sharp and then head off to the weight room so we can see what we need to do during the offseason. I know Kobori’s back in the knee brace, so I’ll have him skip the drills and go see the trainers, then join us back so I can start him on his strengthening regimen.” Coach snorts deeply, thick with the sound of phlegm and too many cigarettes during lunch. “I want him to gain some muscle before we hit Interhigh this year. He’s too skinny for his height.”

Kasamatsu blinks. “We?”

Coach gives him a look. “It’s the last practice of the year and you’re running it. Don’t you remember Jinta doing the same last year?”

“I’m technically not even Captain yet,” Kasamatsu says, a little numb.

Coach claps a hand on Kasamatsu’s shoulder. “We’ve all got to start somewhere,” he says, not unkindly. “Now go on and change into your practice clothes, it’s your job to set up the cones today.” 

“Yes sir,” he says, habit forcing his voice.

Coach coughs, waves vaguely at him and departs with a hand digging in his back pocket for the last inch of a cigarette butt from his last smoke break. 

He pulls the jersey up and over his head, slick fabric puddling like water in his hands. The number ironed on the back has a faintly sticky, almost tacky quality to it. Kasamatsu wipes his fingers on his mesh shorts, but the feeling never quite goes away.

He strips down to his compression shorts and digs out his leg sleeves from his duffel bag. He wiggles his toes through, socks clinging stubbornly to the slippery fabric, right before left. Always right before left. Then his practice shorts from middle school, ragged at the edges and loose in the hips from too many washings. Right shoe, then left shoe, then right laces before left. Always a double knot with the loose bits tucked beneath the tongue. Black practice shirt and 8x4 antiperspirant, right underarm then left. 

By the time he slams the door on his locker, Kasamatsu feels more like himself. 

He cracks his neck, readjusts the GeoShock on his left wrist and clambers off the bench. He’s been to a hundred practices. Today is just the same. He think he’s done a pretty good job convincing himself as he’s laying the cones out in neat rows on the first-string court, breathing slow and steady, pacing his breaths each time he feels his heartbeat speed up.

The doors to the gym slam open and they pour through the swinging doors, laughing, joking, shoes squeaking against the freshly waxed floor. 

“Yukio!” Moriyama grins at him, weaving his way around the cones with light feet. “What the hell are you doing?” 

Kasamatsu automatically elbows him in the ribs when he gets too close. “Setting up for a drill, what the hell does it look like I’m doing?”

Most of the club has trickled through the doors by now, jockeying around for a position close to the back and away from where the Captain traditionally stands, grinning and talking shit about the upcoming final exams. It’s a smaller group than usual, with all of the seniors long departed and most of the third-string members taking the day off to study. 

“What are you doing here so early?” Moriyama’s eyes widen, a little. “Are you--?”

Kasamatsu slams the last cone down hard enough that his fingers leave imprints on the plastic. “Yeah,” he says and swallows. “I’m running it.”

By then Kobori has made his slow way over, limping slightly. What little Kasamatsu can see of his knee under the black brace is colored an angry red and swollen. 

“That looks like crap,” Kasamatsu frowns. “Have you been keeping off of it like they told you too?” 

“Hello to you too,” Kobori says, wry. 

“Well, have you?”

“Yes,” Kobori says, face impassive. “And I’ve been icing it every night. This actually is a lot better than what it was a couple of days ago.”

“Shit, it must have been the size of a melon before,” Moriyama says, shaking his head. 

Kobori shrugs. 

“Coach wants you to skip the drills and warmups and head straight to the trainers,” Kasamatsu says, crouching down to get a better look at Kobori’s knee. “Nakamura-sensei gets to work his magic on you while the rest of us have to toil through drills today.” He prods at the brace with his finger, noting the way Kobori flinches slightly. 

“I am sorry to miss your first practice,” Kobori says, quiet. 

Kasamatsu jerks his head up. “What?”

“I know I should be helping you out as your Vice-Captain--”

“Are you fucking kidding me? You need to stay off your knee and get better, not hold my hand and baby me through my duties,” Kasamatsu says scornfully, standing up properly so he can look Kobori in the eye. 

Moriyama tilts his head at him. “It’s only the last practice,” he says and his voice is almost gentle. “I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“I--” Kasamatsu looks over across the gym, where the team is waiting for the arrival of the Captain. “I can’t fuck this up. Not like I did last time.”

“You can’t let that stop you from trying,” Kobori says in a measured voice, hands shoved in his pockets.

“God--!!” Kasamatsu bites off, breath sharp and digging into the soft tender flesh deep in his chest. “Alright, alright, let’s get this started. Kobori get your ass out of here. I’ll see you in the weight room when you’re done, Coach wants to see you separately for a new regimen he wants to try out with you. Moriyama...”

Moriyama gives him a small smile. “I’ll be hassling some first year ass, don’t worry about me.”

“Good. Alright.” Kasamatsu cracks his neck, curls his hands into tight fists. “Let’s do this.” Without thinking, without breathing, he jogs over to the second-string court. He tries not to notice how the mass of bodies part naturally before him, voices quieting, the room slowly falling still. He heads to the back, where the crowd is thickest and turns around when he hits the wall.

“Hey.” Kasamatsu forces his feet to stay still, clasping his hands behind his back to hide the shaking. “I’ll be running practice today and, as you are well aware, for the rest of the year.” He clears his throat.

“Any questions?”

Moriyama raises his hand in the air, a sly grin on his face.

“Any serious questions not about girls?” Kasamatsu quickly amends. It brings out a couple of quiet snickers and the tension in the room slowly fades a couple of notches. 

“No? Alright, we’re going to start with ten laps around the building and then break down into groups for stretching. Everyone ready?” 

“Yes, Captain!” 

Kasamatsu leads the way out, ears ringing with the sound of a hundred voices and his team at his back, surging forward.


End file.
